Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet Read Free Page B

collar
paced the deck as he talked loudly into his wireless headset. His
snapping and crackling ciphernetic voice came from an
electro-mechanical device that was implanted in his throat many
years ago. This added to his unsettling appearance of cropped white
hair bounding between the normal right side of his face and the
artificial skin that covered the left side like an off-colored
mask. It was a constant reminder to all who viewed him that
starship warfare was indeed a dangerous game.
    Commander Paladin's dark
eyes and harsh voice were charged with fury as he directed his ship
and the Martian military’s order of battle. "Angel Fire to Angel
One! Angel Fire to Angel One!" Commander Paladin voiced in urgency.
"They're trying to reform several wings at 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5,
over!"
    "Wait one," the female voice of Angel One replied
over his headset.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Some distance away, the blue and gold Martian
fighters of Angel flight assembled. They were somewhat reminiscent
of the F-18 fighters of over 150 years past, but the superb
blended-wing craft held many major differences. For instances, like
the bigger Martian warships, they were ion driven. However, the
fighters required compressed fuel cells for power instead of
relying on cold fusion reactors. Also each forward wing was
connected to the other by a rearward triangular spoiler, which gave
them great maneuverability when flown through a planet’s
atmosphere.
    Huge plasma pulse cannons also replaced each of the
F-18’s jet forward intakes. Liquid oxygen and hydrogen were their
ammunition supply. Stored in wing tanks, a mixture of both fluids
was sent into a special chamber and ignited into plasma by a laser.
Using an intense electromagnetic accelerator to form and propel the
plasma down its barrels, a plume of plasma bullets were then
loosened from the fighter’s cannons at approximately 5,000 meters
per second. The high-tech weapons could easily penetrate over a
foot of unguarded steel. And to supplement their guns like their
ancestor, there were a number of pylons under the forward wings
that carried a variety of different types of missiles and other
ordinance.
    Angel One—Squadron Leader
Colette Boussard—vectored her flight towards the given coordinates.
Despite her helmet’s visor display supplying an enormous amount of
flight and target information, she jerked her head around
constantly while her eyes searched in an “S” pattern. This type of
scanning was typical of veteran pilots that used it to avoid a
“flaming helmet” scenario of information overload under the
stresses of combat. Her bulky and somewhat oversized space helmet,
however, forced her to over-exaggerate her head movements in order
to get a better view.
    "Boosy, I see them! They're at nine o'clock high!"
her wingman blurted out over her radio earphones.
    Colette snapped her head upward to survey two huge
enemy formations of teardrop craft with delta wings.
    "Oh my God, there must be over a hundred of them!"
her wingman was awed.
    Colette's gut tightened in anxiety, but it made no
difference. "We see them, Commander. We're on our way!" Colette
spoke resolved to her mission. "Angel One to Angel Flight! Vector
2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5! I say again! Vector 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5! We’ll
form a Cat’s Claw at the new Initial Point!"
    One by one, the fighters of
Angel Flight peeled away from their separate and isolated positions
in the battle, and started their attack run in what seemed to be
random, disconnected patterns. The space fighters zipped and spun
about at tremendous speeds while turning at insane angles, barely
missing thousands of drifting pieces of wreckage—the vestiges of
the destruction—as well as other surviving spacecraft. The control
of each fighter was directed by their linked flight computers via a
joint tactical matrix system. But all were making their way
steadily to the same directed I. P. This was the nature of fighter
tactics of the 22nd Century. Long gone were the days of